


A Nest of Trouble

by Fledgling



Category: Tom Clancy's Rainbow Six (Video Games)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Insecurity, M/M, Poisoning, Self-Doubt, Toxic Gas Exposure, White masks, accidental injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-06
Updated: 2019-08-06
Packaged: 2020-08-10 21:35:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20142337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fledgling/pseuds/Fledgling
Summary: Mute finds out the hard way what’s inside of Smoke’s canisters while on a mission. Smoke...doesn’t know how to handle it.





	A Nest of Trouble

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [A Nest of Trouble](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20625797) by [Malili_J](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Malili_J/pseuds/Malili_J)

> So I haven’t written anything in...a while? But I’ve recently gotten into Siege and it’s been both a fun game and a great source of inspiration to write.  
Also I kinda headcanon that Doc knows what’s in Smoke’s canisters, purely for medical/safety reasons.  
Also also: I figure that while they’re on missions, everyone uses their codenames/aliases/what have you, for the sake of professionalism. Out of missions though, I think everyone uses their regular names.

It had been a while since a mission had gone as sideways as this one.

James bit back a swear as a piece of the wall he was using for cover exploded in a cloud of dust, blasted apart by the explosion of a grenade. He crouched, motionless, against every instinct telling him to run; running would make noise, give his position away, whereas staying put meant they still had to come find him.

Heavy footsteps echoed above him, followed by a burst of gunfire, and he bit his lip as he heard movement from the other side of the wall. He took a deep breath, tightening and then relaxing his hold on his shotgun. 

“We need to get out of here,” came Mark’s voice over the comms. “We’re not going to last much longer.”

“Soon,” that was Gustave, slightly out of breath. “Reinforcements are on the way.”

“Yeah, but how long—shit!”

Mark’s voice cut out, and James ground his teeth. The person on the other side of the wall moved again, and James saw the very edge of a white mask appear through the hole made by its owner’s grenade moments before. He stood, bringing his shotgun to bear, and blasted the wall twice in quick succession. The person on the other side fell over, and James peeked through the hole.

“Mute, mate, talk to me.” The irony of that sentence almost made him laugh. There was no answer, and he ran through his mental map of the building, trying to think of where the other had last been.

“I’m here,” Mark finally said, breathing heavily, “my mask is fucked, though. Sliced right through.”

“Where are you?”

Another pause. James peeked his head out of the hole once more, looking through the doorway that led to the stairs up and down.

“Basement, near the spiral stairs,” Mark hissed, “there’s more coming in from outside.”

“I’ll be right there.”

James moved as quietly as he could to the circular desk that occupied the middle of the room, stopping to the side of the hatch that sat in the center. He leveled his shotgun at it, shooting until the hatch collapsed entirely. He glanced through the opening and, not seeing anyone, fell through, landing in a crouch. 

“Okay, I’m with you,” he whispered, “down in the cafeteria.”

“Be careful, they’ve blown through the garage doors.”

James smirked, reaching for one of the grenades at his belt.

“Nothing one of my babes can’t handle.”

He crept closer to the doorway leading into the garage, tossing one of the grenades out to stick above the doorway across from him. He tossed another onto the doorframe directly above him as an afterthought. 

“Nests ready to go.”

He moved back, watching the doorways for any signs of movement. Gunshots echoed above him, and a moment later an explosion rocked the building.

“They’re moving downstairs,” Maxim barked through the comms, the sounds of a struggle in the background, “stay alert!”  
James readjusted his grip on his shotgun. He could hear the shuffle of footsteps behind him as more White Masks entered the garage.

“We’ve got company,” he whispered.

There was another bark of gunfire, this time much closer than before. 

“Damn, there’s a lot of them!” Mark said, the bare edges of panic creeping into his voice. “I’ve gotta move back, there’s too many.”

“Don’t get pinned between them and the ones in here,” James warned. “I’m sure they’re talking to each other.”

Mark didn’t answer, but James could hear his soft footsteps coming closer. All at once the group that was in the garage surged forward, heading towards the doorway James had planted his first nest above. He heard Mark swear, and bullets began flying through the doorway. Some of the White Masks dove for cover while the others charged ahead with little concern for the shots Mark was firing at them. Three of them made it to the doorway, and James chose that moment to pounce, springing from his covered position and unloading his shotgun into the trio. Between his shots and Mark’s, they went down without a fuss and James turned, switching from his shotgun to his pistol and downing another White Mask. 

“You alright there, babe?” he asked, not needing to look over his shoulder to know Mark was at his back.

“They’re coming down the stairs,”

James nodded, his eyes glued to where one of the last White Masks was hiding behind a stack of metal pipes. Mark fired a series of shots from his SMG, and the White Mask James had been waiting for chose that moment to rise from his hiding place and open fire. James fired two shots, both hitting the man in the chest. The man fell back, his gun spraying an arc of bullets as he did. Most of them thudded dully into the concrete walls, but one of them sank into the nest James had planted with a metallic ping. The grenade exploded, covering the two defenders in its orange gas.

“Shit, I can’t see,” James spat. A bullet whizzed past his head as a hand wrapped around his wrist and he was yanked down, Mark pulling him to lie beside him on the floor as more bullets filled the air above them. James glanced around, seeing several pairs of boots down the hallway from them. He started to aim at them, at least get a few shots in, when Mark tugged on his wrist again. James tried to look at the other man through the cloud of orange gas, only able to make out the barest details. He could see him pointing towards a doorway to their right though, and after a second of hesitation James stood and sprinted towards it, hoping the gas would give him enough cover. Mark was close on his heels, and they both leapt over the desk in the small room, pressing their backs against it.

“You know, when I said I wanted to get you all alone against a desk, I had a different activity in mind, you know?” James said, taking a second to reload his shotgun. Mark coughed in answer, and after a moment coughed again, much harder. He began frantically clawing at the latches for his mask.

“Mute? Mate, what’re you—oh shit.”

He could see now the massive, jagged line that split the side of Mark’s mask. It was a good three inches long, and as Mark ripped the mask off James could see a scratch on his cheek that matched it, where the tip of the knife had caught him. More importantly, that meant his mask was no longer secure. A hot wave of panic flooded through James’ body.

“Mark!” James grasped his shoulders as Mark threw his mask to the side, taking strangled breaths. They hadn't been in the gas cloud for long, but James had made his beauties with the intention to work quickly and effectively. A few seconds was enough to do serious harm. Mark was shuddering now, the coughing getting worse as he leaned against James for support, pressing his forehead to James’ shoulder.

“Doc!” James shouted into the comms, “you gotta get down to the basement, now! Mar—Mute's been hurt!”

There was no reply, and James swore as he heard several sets of footsteps coming towards them. He leaned Mark against the desk, pressing his masked forehead to Mark’s unmasked one for just a second before he stood, aiming his shotgun at the door. The gas from the exploded grenade was long gone, and while James had another still on his belt, he couldn’t make himself reach for it. The footsteps stopped, and he heard one of them shout something in a language he didn’t understand before there was a barrage of gunfire. It lasted for only a few seconds, and he kept his gun aimed at the door.

“Friendly coming in!” That was Gustave’s voice, and James lowered the shotgun, turning back to Mark as he walked in.

“What happened?” Gustave asked, kneeling next to Mark.

“He got caught in my nest,” James said, unable to take his eyes off of Mark’s face. “His mask was compromised.”

Gustave swore, immediately checking Mark’s vitals. James glanced towards the door where Maxim was crouched, the Russian having silently followed Gustave in and now was watching the hallway with a sharp glare. The comms crackled to life suddenly, and James only half listened to Eliza inform them that their reinforcements were on site. He switched his attention back to Mark, his heart sinking as he watched the other cough and shudder. He started to step forward, wanting to at least try and comfort the other, but stopped himself, realizing he would likely get in the doctor’s way.

“Smoke,” Maxim’s voice next to his ear cut through his thoughts, and James jumped: he hadn’t heard him walk over. “You and I are going to help the others finish clearing the building. Montagne will stay here and keep an eye on things.”

James only then noticed the Frenchman standing in the doorway, which said something considering how big he was. James let Maxim guide him from the room with a hand on his elbow, though the sinking feeling only worsened as they finished clearing the building out. By the time they were finished Mark and Gustave were already in the helicopter, waiting for the others. James spent the whole helicopter ride in silence, grasping Mark’s hand and staring at his paler than usual face and wishing, not for the first time in his life, he wasn’t so good at creating trouble.

\-----

Mark spent the first two days in the hospital asleep, waking up a few minutes at a time and then drifting off shortly after. James stayed constantly at his side for the first day and a half until Seamus and Gustave shooed him out, claiming he himself needed some rest and a shower. He was back by the second morning though, sitting at Mark’s side and watching the slow rise and fall of his chest under the sheets. By the third day Mark could breathe well enough on his own that Gustave was comfortable in taking off the oxygen mask he had been wearing, though his breaths still shuddered every so often.

“He’s going to be alright, you know,” Seamus told him from his spot leaning against the wall. He had been there almost as much as James, and James had a feeling he was more concerned about watching after him than he was about Mark.

“I know,” James answered, carding his fingers through Mark’s hair.

“It wasn’t your fault.”

“I know.”

Seamus sighed, crossing the room and placing a hand on James’ shoulder. He didn’t say anything else, simply left the room, closing the door behind him.

“Knowing something doesn’t mean you believe it though,” James said in the silence that followed.

James took one of Mark’s hands in both of his, rubbing his thumbs against the clammy skin. Mark didn’t look as bad as he had on day one, but he still looked rough. His skin was still much paler than normal, his skin clammy from a fever that had only broken a few hours before. He still trembled in his sleep every so often, and James ached every time he did.

James pressed his lips to the knuckles of the hand he held, and was surprised when they moved against his lips. He looked at Mark’s face and saw his eyes open, staring at him with a sleepy affection that hurt more than anything else.

“Hey,” Mark rasped. The initial gas inhalation and the near constant coughing that followed had shredded his throat, and James hoped the damage wasn’t permanent. Mark’s voice was so lovely to listen to.

“Hey yourself,” he answered. “Thirsty?”

Mark nodded. He had been thirsty every time he woke up so far. James grabbed the cup of ice that he had gotten when Mark briefly woke up earlier and had been melting for the past hour, fishing one of the ice chips out with a plastic spoon and holding it against Mark’s lips as he sat up.

“Have you left since I got here?” Mark asked as the ice melted in his mouth. “I think I’ve seen you every time I’ve woken up.”

James stared at the cup in his hand, unable to meet Mark’s gaze as he shook his head. Mark sighed, though it turned into a coughing fit that had them both wincing. It subsided after a minute, and James could still feel Mark’s eyes on him.

“James, love—”

“Don’t—”

“It’s not your fault. It was an accident.”

James shook his head again.

“I should’ve been more careful. Should’ve warned you my beauty was there.”

“There wasn’t exactly time for that.”

James sighed, scooping out another ice chip and holding it up to Mark’s mouth, finally looking at him. Mark stared back, taking the ice without breaking eye contact. He was thinking; James could tell from the look in his eyes, the way he tilted his head ever so slightly to the right. It was adorable, and James had to look away.

“What’s bothering you?” Mark asked, crunching the ice between his teeth. “It’s more than just the accident, isn’t it?”

James spun the spoon between his fingers, biting his lip as he tried to organize the mess of thoughts that’d been clogging his brain for days.

“I just—all I seem to be able to do is break things and cause trouble,” he said after a minute. “It’s been like that my whole life, and I’ve never been able to escape it, it’s like I’m cursed. Whenever something good happens, I always seem to muck it up.”

“James—”

“Have I ever told you you’re the best thing to ever happen to me?” It was all coming out now, like a valve had been loosened in his brain and all of his worries were rushing to break free. “Because you are. I mean, fuck, I’m still not sure why you bother with me most days. Look at you: you’re young, gorgeous, and fucking brilliant on top of it! And I’m,” he gestured at himself, “none of that.”

“And then I have to go and nearly kill you. Because I can’t have nice things and it,” he sucked in a harsh breath. “If anything happened to you, because of me, I wouldn’t be able to live with myself.”

“James—”

“I love you. I love you so much and it’s damn terrifying because I’m going to fuck it all up at some point, and—”

“James!”

The plastic cup crumpled in James’ fist, chunks of ice and water spilling out and covering James’ hand and the floor. His vision was cloudy, and so it took a moment for him to realize the shape in front of his face was a hand. The hand slipped under his chin, tilting it up until he was looking at Mark’s face again.

“You need to calm down, James. Just breath, okay?”

James took a deep, shaky breath, and he didn’t realize he was crying until Mark was wiping the tears away with his thumb.

“What’s wrong with me, Mark?” he gasped, struggling to release the death grip he had on the cup. “Why do I fuck up everything I touch?”

“You don’t fuck up everything you touch, James. Remember when our car broke down when we were on our way to the beach? You were able to fix it with nothing but duct tape and your shoelaces.” Mark was smiling at him softly, stroking his cheekbone with his thumb. “And when Six needed someone to reverse engineer the gas the White Masks were using in Copenhagen, you were able to figure it out in just a couple of days. No one else could’ve done it that quickly.”

Mark moved his hand up into James’ hair, threading his fingers through the dark strands. James leaned into it, letting his eyes fall closed.

“Your jokes can be absolutely awful, and your pranks are a little out of hand sometimes, but you strive to make people laugh like it’s your only goal in life. You want other people to be happy because you don’t want anyone to be angry and lonely like you’ve been, which is why you and Dom butt heads so often, because you see too much of yourself in each other.”

James nodded wordlessly, finally getting his breathing under control. He and Dom had talked about it once, over several beers in the middle of the night. About how no matter how hard they tried they never felt they were doing good enough, how their thoughts were always just a half step away from drowning them. Mark and Marius had both been on a mission, then; had been for over three weeks. The loneliness had driven them to each other, two busted lighthouses in a stormy harbor.

“Oh, and I love you too,” Mark whispered, pulling James forward and leaning closer until their lips touched. James finally released the cup, his hands rising to frame Mark’s face instead. Mark sighed into the kiss and James pulled him even closer, unable to get enough of him. Mark whined softly as James bit his lip, then pulled back as the whine transformed into a cough.

“Damnit,” he hissed between coughs, his whole body shaking with the force.

“I’ll get you some more ice,” James said, swiping the busted cup off the floor and heading for the door.

“Can you make it ice cream instead?” Mark called after him.

James paused, thoughtful.

“Only if I can spoon feed it to you, too.”

Mark grinned. Some of the color had finally started to return to his skin.

“Deal.”


End file.
